


The Society of Outsiders

by Peapods



Category: Pundit RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-30
Updated: 2010-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-06 21:02:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peapods/pseuds/Peapods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Photographer Keith Olbermann has just arrived in Victorian England. There he meets Anderson Cooper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Society of Outsiders

Keith Olbermann, late of East Prussia from the new nation of Germany, stared at his newly purchased studio with some contempt. It was barren, cold, and completely without the kind of light the advertisement had promised. He raised an eyebrow at the high windows and large spaces. The latter was one thing he could be thankful for. So many clients wanted elaborate portraits done, with astonishing backdrops and props. Keith wondered why they simply didn't have paintings done. Photography, however, had brought portraiture to the masses.

Keith was, by almost every definition, a German man. His father had been a well-respected middle-class merchant who had given Keith Hegel, Schelling and von Kleist and told him to study Bismarck and others of their leaders intently. He believed that while birth, capacity, and other circumstances determined the course of an individual, subjective opinion and willpower were far more essential. At least, that had been his experience before arriving in Great Britain. In his first few months, still on the hunt for a studio, he had met several lower class persons who had the will, the brains, but none of the other accouterments like money or connections necessary to affect upward mobility. It would be extremely naive to say that it wasn't like that in Prussia some of the time, but there were other instruments in place to help people get ahead.

Keith's interest in the subject of class and individual freedom was also the subject of his art. He made his living on portraiture, but it was not his passion. His first few days in England, after settling in a boarding house and making the rounds of his father's connections, had been spent planted in a park, setting up the camera to take candid photographs of the population. Now, he had a space to develop those photographs.

His belongings had arrived from home the day before so he spent his first day unpacking. A few teenage boys had helped him move in all his furniture and as the room filled up it lost some of it's cold emptiness. He hung tapestries as his mother would have instructed him and aired out his bedclothes on the small balcony he had been blessed with. The view, he noted as he flapped out the pillowcases, was perfect. He was tempted to drop what he was doing and grab his equipment, but reminded himself that the view would always be there and probably someday with better light than there was today.

Unpacked and furniture arranged Keith surveyed the space. He would need more windows and began drafting a note to his landlord about possible construction. He could do it himself, he would only need permission to alter the apartment. Keith had a whole floor to himself, unheard of usually, but his father's money and connections, and the money Keith had made in trade before photography, had given him quite enough to afford it for up to two years, if not more.

A knock at his door startled him from his musings and he quickly wiped his hands of ink before answering. He was struck then with a vision that had his mouth running dry.

Before him was a young man, perhaps a decade younger than Keith's thirty-three years, but his dark hair already showed silvered signs of old age. His face was soft and smooth though, baby fat clinging to a defined jaw and long pale face. Mutable blue, fierce eyes stared into his own making Keith recall the images of Norse gods, particularly the Christ-like Balder, called the fairest and most gentle of the gods.

"Pardon me, sir," he said in a clear English voice. "I'm attached to the kitchen here and was inquiring whether you would have need of a cook or manservant?" The young man didn't look particularly thrilled to be offering his services and Keith was able to deduce that his employer had sent him to Keith once he saw all the names Keith associated with.

"I'm afraid I'm not much of a cook, but I have no need of a manservant," he told the man and was gratified to see some relief. "Keith Olbermann," he introduced, holding out his hand. The man looked a little shocked but took the hand in politeness.

"Anderson Cooper, sir."

"You've no need to call me 'sir'," Keith said with a wave of his hand. He invited Anderson in with the same hand and pointed to the small kitchen he'd been provided with. "I have simple tastes, if a fairly large appetite. And I'll want you to make enough to feed yourself as well." He had no idea why he made the offer. Perhaps it was the loose fit of a pair of very small trousers. He also did not want to bother with 'the English way of things' in terms of class. Anderson, if he was surprised, did not look at Keith any more strangely than he had at the offer of Keith's hand. He simply started checking cabinets and muttering to himself. "I'll give you a stipend to spend on food and pans and things. I brought none with me and Mother was adamant that I would not be receiving any flatware or china."

"Do you have a preference?"

"Utility would be nice," Keith said. "I have no need for the trappings of class. You may buy something nice if you like, but above all I am interested in utility."

"I shall go directly, then," Anderson said, taking his leave.

Keith watched him go and contemplated this new situation. The boy, young man, was beautiful and obviously of a discerning character as he had not felt the need to remain timid or unhappy in his new circumstances. Perhaps Keith could forge some kind of relationship here. It did not seem a wholly improbable proposition.

*****

Two weeks passed in a routine fashion. Keith built his darkroom and obtained permission to create the windows. Anderson cooked lunch and supper, leaving Keith to fend for what little breakfast he required. Anderson had done research and had cooked both German and English meals, sometimes combining tastes in a pleasing manner. He would make but small portions for himself and always wrapped to take back to the servant's quarters. They had had very little conversation. Keith was slightly disappointed.

"Blast!" he exclaimed as he fiddled with his equipment one afternoon.

"Anything the matter?" Anderson asked.

"Only that this film is determined to vex me," Keith grumbled, abandoning the stubborn thing to join Anderson in the kitchen. "What have we got today? A fusion of French and Italian perhaps?"

Anderson smiled and set a plate in front of Keith. Keith hardly noticed the plate as his eyes were drawn to that bright smile. Anderson's eyes crinkled to near invisibility, a dimple appearing at one side. He had smiled before, but never with the tiny light of happiness that lit his face as it did now.

Keith had no delusions about what he found attractive. Men, with hard, slender bodies and rough fingers set his blood boiling. Beauty like Anderson's had had very little to do with his attraction. Books taught that this kind of love was wrong, sinful. Only Thomas Mann had spoken of this kind of love, but it had been more like infatuation, something Keith did not allow to dominate him. A moment's admiration was no substitute for conversation and passion. This kind of outlook would not be welcomed in England. Keith wondered whether Mann was even known in this part of the world. But Keith had never found anything but rightness in the press of cock against cock.

"You never speak much about yourself," Keith opened after Anderson had finished cleaning. "Come sit with me." For once, Anderson looked hesitant, but sent Keith a smaller version of his other smile, bringing a plate over to sit and eat with him.

"I haven't much to talk about, I suppose," Anderson replied, scooping his fork primly into his mouth. He had excellent manners, probably even better than Keith's. It made him wonder about this man's life. What had it been like before coming to this house? Scenarios, each more fantastical than the next, flitted through his mind. One even envisioned Anderson as the bastard son of a King, forced into work even after an education worthy of a prince.

"How long have you been with Mr. White?"

Anderson blushed. "Five years. My mother's debts became too much for her to bear. She remarried, fairly well, but I could not take my step-father's money." He had never said so many words together in Keith's presence. Though his speech was littered with halting pauses and slight stutters, it was not the mark of a shy man, simply one unused to answering questions. "I have a friend in the kitchen who was able to recommend me."

"You could be doing anything," Keith postulated.

Anderson shrugged. "I decided to do this."

Something about that response intrigued Keith, just a little. Made something in him yearn for something beyond beauty. They finished the meal in silence. As Anderson took the plates away, Keith returned to his frustration with the camera.

"I've never met a photographer before," Anderson said tentatively. Keith smiled at him and beckoned him over, earning another delighted smile.

Keith pointed out the various parts of the camera and he observed Anderson soaking it all in, able to name everything off accurately when Keith quizzed him. Then Keith taught him how it operated. And then he showed Anderson some of his portraits.

"These are very good," Anderson commented, flipping through them. He was incredibly careful, afraid to smudge or bend. It made Keith smile to see his concern.

"These are only my commercial photos," he mentioned.

"You have more?" Anderson asked eagerly. With a smile, Keith dragged out his few framed pieces and the trunk full of photos. He and Anderson sat for hours going through the photos and Anderson asked for the story of every photograph, wanted to know what had inspired Keith to take it.

"If I ever have need of an assistant I surely know who to go to," Keith said, amused as Anderson finally realized the time, and the growling of their stomachs, and started supper.

"I would be honored," Anderson said.

It was the start of a new routine.

*****

"Children," Keith grumbled as his last client left. Anderson chuckled lowly and helped him collapse the set the matron of the ten children that had been stuffed in his apartment had insisted upon. "Why do these women feel the need to have so many?"

"I guess it's the fact that they don't have anything else to do. They don't have anyway to affect a stop to it," Anderson said, not looking at Keith.

"You speak as if you are personally affected," Keith said, as they folded the tarp.

Anderson shrugged. "My friend in the kitchen. She didn't want to marry so she ran away when her father tried to force a prospective spouse down her throat. Mr. White is... sympathetic to those who... don't fit."

"And you are one who... doesn't fit?" Keith asked, looking at him sideways.

"You could say that," Anderson answered without looking at Keith, only nodded. Keith decided not to press the point. They had become tentative friends and Keith had no desire to test it so early. Keith had been correct in his estimation of Anderson's intellect and had loaned him several of his favorite volumes. Anderson had accepted them all, shyly, and generally finished them within a week, ready to discuss points of contention or ask for clarification.

Sitting down to supper that night, for Anderson had ceased simply packing his meal and leaving, they discussed more illicit forms of photography.

"I don't see why photographing a nude is any worse than painting one," Anderson said, taking a sip of the wine Keith had insisted on after a day of screaming children.

Keith waved his hand in annoyance. "The prudery of your country never ceases to amaze me." Anderson giggled at this and Keith allowed himself a pleased smile. Alcohol, it seemed, was not something Anderson had a lot of experience with. Keith, with somewhat impure thoughts, refilled his glass.

"I've always found the nudes incredibly... cold," Anderson said. Keith raised an eyebrow, asking for clarification. "I've really only seen statues, a few paintings in my step-father's home or the British Museum. There is no emotion in their depiction. As if the artist had no passion." Keith's heart was beating wildly. But, no, he wrestled control. He would not scare away this... creature who could say such provocative things with such an innocent tone.

"It's difficult to maintain distance from a subject with nudity. Perhaps they simply went too far in the other direction," Keith argued.

"Perhaps," Anderson said, pursing his lips. He gathered their plates and took them to the kitchen. Keith followed with their glasses. Keith began helping him clean up the kitchen. "Have you ever done nude photography?" The question came and Keith whirled to look at his friend, who didn't look back, but kept his eyes firmly fixed on the dishes he was washing.

"I have not. I had not considered it before," Keith said, eyes fixed on Anderson. "Perhaps I will attempt it."

*****

"So, the ones who don't fit," Keith started, "what does that mean?"

Anderson was cleaning, scouring at a pot in which he had made them a thick stew. He stopped briefly in his scrubbing to glance at Keith. He then shrugged casually.

"Those who don't want to... live out the well set pattern of the millions before them. Mr. White was one himself."

"I still don't understand," Keith said, brow furrowing behind his spectacles. And he really did not. Things were different in Prussia. Or perhaps they only seemed so. But Keith's father had always told him that mobility was a hallmark of the accomplished German man. Anderson had intellect, independence, and even someone to help him into other parts of society. How did he not fit?

"Maybe an example will clarify things for you," Anderson said. "My friend in the kitchen is the daughter of an upper-middle class family. She was quite sought after as a bride for many years. When she turned twenty-two, and was sill unmarried, she came into a good sum of money that allowed her to leave her parents' home. At least, long enough for her to get an education. She lives here, works for Mr. White, and attends classes at the same time."

"That is not so strange to a Prussian. We are used to this sort of independence and mobility," Keith told him, feeling infinitely stupid.

"Do you not wonder why she simply did not find some simpleton to marry and then use _his_ money to see to her education?" Anderson asked.

Again, he was sure he had missed something.

"I do not understand. You speak too... broadly." Anderson smiled, seemingly to himself, and quit scrubbing his pot.

"She... she does not _like_ men." Keith would never had called himself a stupid man before today when Anderson's circumspection left him reeling with confusion. Anderson said no more, and another glance at him revealed a deepening blush and an extreme interest in a particular stain. It suddenly occurred to Keith.

"Romantically, you mean," Keith said. "She does not... respond." Anderson nodded and his blush did not abate. "Then I suppose I have found my place."

Anderson's head shot up, meeting Keith's amused eyes.

"I am also one who does not 'fit'."

*****

"I've learned another recipe. My friend in the kitchen has been helping me. She has family in Prussia," Anderson said walking in with sacks of food. Keith wiped his hands of toner and came to take one from his hands. He placed it on the table and began unpacking things as Anderson placed things in the ice-box.

"I've been thinking about your suggestion," Keith started. Anderson, busy with his work, only "hmmed" inquiringly. "The nude photography," Keith clarified and noted, with a tiny thrill, Anderson's hand slip as he chopped an onion.

"Oh," Anderson said softly. "What-uh, what did you conclude?"

"I'm going to try it, I think. You were right, too often nude art is passionless." He was determined to draw this out as long as possible.

"Have you thought of a subject?" Anderson asked.

"I think a male." The hand with the knife paused slightly before resuming.

"Why?"

"Too many female nudes these days, we've forgotten the majesty of the male form." He could see his careful skirting of the subject affecting Anderson. He had set aside the knife and was working on de-leafing the cabbage, hands shaking ever so slightly. It was a sign to Keith that his assumption might be right. Anderson had told him that those who did not 'fit' came to stay at Mr. White's. He had never responded to Keith's own admission. Keith had only hoped since then.

"How will you find a model?"

"I'm hoping I've already found one."

"Really?" Keith came over and stilled the hand and waited until Anderson looked up at him.

"Anderson? Would you please be my model?"

The smile sent his way was captivating, shy, but almost...affectionate. "Really?"

"Yes."

The blush was bright red, but the smile only grew. "Yes, I believe I could do that."

*****

Keith was unsure what he'd gotten himself into. Anderson was behind a screen stripping, probably flushed from head to toe. Keith had to admit he was flushed as well. He'd worn his loosest trousers and was clad only in shirtsleeves, cravat and vest left off in the heat of the apartment.

Anderson emerged and Keith lost his breath, eyes glued to his friend. Anderson was incredibly thin, but toned. He was sweating slightly in the heat. The new windows brought in sunshine and heat. Keith had lit both fires so Anderson would not be at all uncomfortable in his nudity. The sweat was a vague sheen, and Anderson glittered in the late afternoon sun.

"What should I do?" Anderson said, defensively, lightly, wrapping his arms around his middle.

Keith cleared his throat. "Why don't you stand by the window, staring out, lost in thought," Keith said, regaining some professionalism. Anderson did as he said. He was a natural model. One leg bent back, exposing his groin while one hip rested on the window jamb. It was a picture that would stay with Keith without the help of film.

He set up his equipment and framed the shot. Anderson would look gorgeous. Anderson would not be cold. He would be the representation of passion.

He snapped the picture.

"You can relax," he said. Anderson turned to him and leaned against the wall, watching Keith reload a cartridge. When Keith looked up, the utter peace on Anderson's face, the pose he had inadvertently struck, made Keith take a deep breath. Without even saying a word to Anderson, he disappeared again and snapped the picture. It startled Anderson, who had apparently been lost in thought.

"What next?" he asked softly. Keith had been playing with ideas since Anderson had agreed. He had one pose that he desperately wanted to see, but was afraid to ask for. He could not look at Anderson as the image flashed in his mind. He had been silent too long, he realized, when Anderson spoke again, this time while laying a hand on Keith's still arm. "Keith?"

Keith turned and immediately wished he hadn't. Anderson was so close, so exposed.

"I will do whatever you want me to do," Anderson said, the trust in his eyes shining at Keith.

"I would like," he said hoarsely. "On the bed?"

Anderson smiled, hand sliding from his arm and moving to the bed. Watching him climb onto the feather bed, posterior pointed tantalizingly towards Keith, he wanted to simply follow him, to simply press himself there. He took a deep breath. He walked over as Anderson lay on his back.

"Put your arm above your head. Yes, like that. And pivot your hips so that your legs are to one side," but he wasn't clear enough. With shaking hands and gentle maneuvers, he moved the legs into position. Anderson's penis lay, half-hard, against his thigh. A quick glance at Anderson's face showed his eyes anywhere but on Keith, face flaming bright and mouth open as he took in shaky breaths. "There," Keith said quietly, drawing Anderson's eyes back to him.

He snapped a few more, returning to the bed to turn Anderson this way and that. As the evening dark began to descend on the apartment he let Anderson redress. The other man did, no longer shyly hidden behind the screen. He then washed his hands and immediately began making supper. Keith admired his ability to simply sink back into his own role. Keith would need a few more moments.

He disappeared into the lavatory and pressed his back to the door and his hand to his groin. A fiery heat met his palm and he closed his eyes to the sounds of crockery and a knife on the chopping block. He pressed harder and felt a pulse in response. He breathed out hard and rubbed slightly, eyes rolling back at the feeling. Before his eyes he saw Anderson's body again, glistening, but this time he imagined it was from sex, from making love with Keith. He would be laying back on the bed afterward, letting Keith watch him, letting Keith shoot him. He opened his trousers and grasped his erection. He gritted his teeth so his gasp would not be heard and stroked himself. He was already wet with fluid and he rubbed it in. Anderson would be so passionate in bed. So reserved in his daily life, at night, in passion, he would come alive with grasping hands, tossing head and flailing legs. Keith would hold onto him, not to still him, but to control him, to let that movement rouse him even more.

He breathed hard and pulled at his erection faster. At some point he would demand his own control, Anderson would. He would turn Keith on his back, he would grasp him and sink onto his cock as though to be without it any longer would kill him. He tightened his fist at the thought and moments later, a vision of Anderson--mouth open as it had been during the shoot, sweating heavily, beautiful sounds issuing from his throat--brought him to a violent orgasm.

He nearly doubled over and the hand unoccupied grabbed at the bathtub. He recovered quickly, cognizant that Anderson would be wondering what was taking so long. He washed up quickly in the basin and made himself look presentable.

Outside, Anderson stood, still blushing, at the stove, stirring constantly. He did not look at Keith.

*****

"I must apologize, I think," Keith said the next day over lunch. "I feel I have taken liberties."

Anderson's head snapped up. "Oh no! Keith, no, I-" he blushed and looked down at his plate. "I enjoyed it," he admitted. "But it was very intimate. I have... I have never been so seen, before."

Keith knew that he did not mean his nudity. What few words had passed between them could never have revealed everything their glances, their movements had. But was there anything to be done about it? Was there anything that could be said?

They spent the afternoon with clients, thankfully none with children. One couple, so in love with one another Keith could hardly induce them to glance away from one another to the camera, made them both uncomfortable. Another, an elderly couple, did not glance too often at one another but it was evident in every touch and smile that their love still lived.

Keith had to acknowledge, therefore, that his interest in Anderson was not prurient, had never been so. He had beauty, yes, and Keith was infatuated in a way. But his quick wit and sharp intelligence had given him entertainment and delight. His decision to live his life the way he chose instead of relying on the charity of his family and the promise of loveless marriage earned Keith's admiration. Keith would have to resort to poetry to describe what Anderson's smile did to him, but there weren't adequate words and Keith had no taste or talent for it in any case.

What was more, he was quite certain that his regard was returned.

*****

There were things Keith did _not_ like about his chosen profession: the need to see the framers, to buy expensive chemicals and supplies, and delivery. As he approached his home one afternoon he thought, disgruntled, about the domineering young woman who had cooed and crowed over the photo. And had cooed and crowed over Keith as well, her husband sitting there looking sick with humiliation. He was so lost in his thoughts he almost missed the argument that was taking place just to the left, in the alley next to his apartments.

"Please, release me," said a stern, but soft voice. "I have given you my answer again and again and yet you persist in this hopeless suit."

"You have nothing here, Anderson," said a new voice, male and pleading. That he was speaking to Anderson caused Keith some alarm, but he stayed out of sight as the conversation continued. "You know that I love you. You know that I can give you the life that you deserve."

"Daniel," Anderson begged. "Please, I know you love me, but _you_ know that my affection for you is nothing but friendship. As to having nothing," there was a pause. "I have _everything_ here, Daniel," he said on an exhale. Keith inched closer, now able to see Anderson standing on the step, the man, Daniel, below him, looking into his face. Daniel was foppish, dressed expensively, but he did not look like an irrational man. One could not be irrational if one found Anderson attractive. He held one of Anderson's hands in his own and looked at him adoringly. Now, his expression fell, but not his hand, which seemed to tighten imperceptibly. Anderson's face was awash with sympathy as he rested his free hand on Daniel's shoulder.

"Then you have found someone?" he asked sadly.

"I believe I have," Anderson answered. "Daniel, you have been my friend all these years and I would not lose that friendship because of this."

"No, indeed you will not," Daniel said. He bent over and kissed Anderson's hand tenderly before releasing and stepping back. Anderson's hands fell to his sides as Daniel replaced his hat. "I wish you all the happiness in the world, Anderson. I hope, whoever he is, he is deserving of you."

"Thank you, I believe he is." Daniel bowed and started towards Keith's position, but passed by him without even a glance, his expression the vision of abject heartbreak. Keith only emerged from his hiding place when he had passed and Anderson had retreated inside. He returned to his apartment, mind whirling with possibility.

*****

"I thought," Keith started before clearing his throat. Anderson looked up from his work inquiringly. "I thought we might try some more shots tonight."

Keith obviously did not need to explain himself as Anderson's face went fiery. But the other man nodded before looking questioningly at the apartment. "But what will you do for light?"

"I want to experiment with low light. The flash will illuminate some parts, the fireplace and lamps, others." He had developed the photos from their last session that afternoon, a day after the overheard conversation. Anderson had been distracted and obviously upset that night so Keith had not broached the topic. Today, but for his reaction to Keith's suggestion, he seemed to have regained his usual equanimity.

"Oh, well then, after supper?" Anderson asked.

"Yes, indeed."

Supper was a silent and slow-moving affair. Or perhaps it only seemed slow moving as there was an urgency in their thoughts if not speed in their movements, in the cutting of meat and skewering of vegetables and time only seemed to drag on. Their fingers had met briefly over the salt, necessitating a lengthy exhale from Keith as some strange tingling in his lungs fired at the touch.

Afterward, they did not dawdle around. The dishes were done and Anderson stripped to nothing in front of Keith, almost watching Keith, who pulled off his jacket and waistcoat and readied his camera. This time there was no sun to warm Anderson and Keith could see goose flesh appear on his arms and legs, making the sparse hair there stand up. He swallowed, taking in the body in front of him, no longer hiding behind defensive arms, no longer embarrassed for his half-hard state. Keith approached him.

"Where would you like me?" Anderson asked softly. Keith's hand landed on the small of his back causing the other man to take a sharp breath. But Keith only led him to the fireplace and placed him in the armchair there.

"Curl up, as though very small and very cold," Keith told him lowly. When Anderson was arranged he snapped the shot. He reloaded quickly. "Now, uncurl towards me, as if," he coughed, "as if your lover has returned home."

Anderson moved slowly, one leg uncurling, a hand coming to rest on the arm as though to lever him up. His face alighted with a peaceful joy the likes of which made Keith swallow. And he did it all looking straight at Keith. Keith disappeared and took the photo. He would not know until he was in the dark room, but he thought these might be his best ever.

"You are beautiful," Keith whispered. He left his camera and approached Anderson. The other man, eyes bright and pupils blown wide from more than the dim light, rose from his pose. Keith stopped in front of him, so close that his clothing nearly brushed against Anderson's bare skin. "I-I heard you speak to that young man yesterday."

Anderson nodded and closed his eyes. "I thought I saw you lurking," Anderson told him with a smile.

"Someone from your former life?"

"Yes," Anderson said. "He was--is--my best friend. We... discovered things together, but his feelings grew while mine remained platonic. When I left home he offered to take me in, but I could not accept that kind of charity. I love him, but I am not in love with him."

"That is... good to know," Keith said. His hand trembled as it cupped Anderson's face. "Would it be the height of foolishness to hope that the one you spoke of being so deserving might be..." he could not finish the sentence.

"It would not," he whispered. "You are the one I spoke of. You are witty and intelligent," he grinned. "Occasionally you can be a bit of a bear, but I like that. I like arguing with you, I like bantering with you. I like you."

Keith grinned. "I am glad. I have never been so close to anyone before, have never had anyone I held in such esteem."

They stared at one another until the tension was broken by Anderson's undignified giggle.

"Are you simply going to let me stand here?" he asked.

Keith felt his face flush and smiled. He bent to Anderson, eyes fluttering closed as their lips met. The gentleness only lasted a few moments before Keith swept him up, carrying him to his bed.

Their passion consumed them, sliding against one another, clutching hard at one another. On Anderson's pale skin Keith could see blood vessels breaking underneath his grip. But Anderson did not complain, only pulled Keith closer, kissed him harder.

"I could hurt you," Keith whispered, voice rough with lust.

"I want to _feel_ you, Keith. You could never hurt me," Anderson told him. Keith kissed him, forcing a duel between their tongues. One large hand spread down Anderson's back, cupped his rear and pressed their groins together. Anderson threw his head back on a gasp, short fingernails digging into Keith's back.

They moved together, exchanging kisses when the need to breathe passed, gasping into one another's mouths as the precipice came closer. Anderson threw himself over first, going utterly silent, face slack. Keith stopped only long enough to capture the image in his mind, to plan one day to photograph that same face. His next thought was obliterated by the arrival of his own fall, one he'd gladly throw himself into again and again.

Lying in cooling sheets, the candles burning to nubs around them, they touched every part of each other. Keith's eye, his camera, had absorbed every part of the man in his arms and now his fingers, his lips, had the chance to do the same. Anderson submitted only to ask the same of Keith and his work-roughened fingers read Keith's skin like Braille.

*****

"I have found a house," Keith announced one day. Anderson went pale and swallowed audibly. He was pushing his food around his plate listlessly. "Anderson?"

"That's wonderful, Keith," Anderson said quietly. "Where is it?"

"Camden," Keith said, taking a sip of his wine. "Anderson, I don't think you understand me."

"What do you mean?" Anderson asked, looking puzzled.

"I want you to come with me." He apparently shocked Anderson into silence. The other man gaped at him.

"Do you mean it?"

"You think I would simply leave you here? Not only are you the best assistant I've ever had, you are my partner," he said matter-of fact.

"Your partner?" Anderson asked faintly.

"In life and I would hope someday in business," Keith said, clearing their dishes. He busied himself with clearing the plates and washing them up, eyes flickering to Anderson's still form every so often. When he came back with the wine bottle and sat down beside him, Anderson's face was glowing red.

"I would like to come with you, Keith," he said with a summoned courage that bled out with a large sigh as his eyes met Keith's tentatively.

The next few weeks were spent packing and assuring Anderson's boss that this was what Anderson wanted and he wasn't being forced to go and yes, he would be paid a good wage, and yes, he would be treated well. And then it was nearly the day of departure and Anderson had a request. He wanted to make an introduction.

"So, you are Rachel?" Keith asked, holding out his hand.

"That's right," she said with a smile and instead of letting Keith bow over her hand, shook it instead. It made Keith smile and Anderson giggle. "I understand you're taking our Anderson away from us," she said looking stern, looking at him over missish spectacles.

"To my credit, I did ask first," he said.

"So _you_ say," she said. She looked him over in a way that Keith hoped did not mean she found him wanting. "I know Mr. White has already interrogated you and found you... adequate. But I have greater standards. I will be by to see him regularly; your opinion on this matter is irrelevant."

"I would never try and keep Anderson from his friends."

"Good. There's no one better in the world, Mr. Olbermann."

"I know."

"Then you have my blessing."

Later that week, Anderson lay nude across a lounge in their new home, smiling, laughing as Keith photographed him. The light from the high windows caressed him. The velvet of the lounge cradled him. He was everything beautiful and passionate. He was the best of them and everyone sung his praises, the words of Snorri Sturluson echoed in his mind making him smile, _he is fair of face and bright that a splendour radiates from him, and there is one flower so white that it is likened to Balder's brow; it is the whitest of all flowers. From that you can tell how beautiful his body is, and bright his hair._


End file.
